


Dreams

by agent85



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, So much angst, and pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 04:48:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3475019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set between 2x05 and 2x06. Fitz has become used to his imaginary Simmons following him around, but when he's confronted with a second Simmons, the line between fantasy and reality blurs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams

When he sees her, it's like time stops.

Not the way Fitz has seen time stop in those rom coms. There's no romance in the way he feels his body go cold, like he opened a door and suddenly found himself in deep space.

He's falling, and freezing, and yet his blood still boils.

"Hey, Fitz," the new Simmons says. She's different than the one that follows him down the hallways. It's not just the hair, or the clothes; there's an edge to her he's never seen before. This isn't something he's remembering. This is new.

Terror rips through him as he tries to remember if this, too, is one of the symptoms of his condition, and when he can't list them all, the old Simmons is there,  _his_  Simmons, to help him finish. He looks between the two of them and thinks that maybe this is what his life will be like, now. One Simmons, one ghost of the woman he loves right before everything changed, that might make him crazy, but it made life bearable. Two Simmonses might drive him mad.

What if she's not like the Simmons he knew for a reason? What if the first was the angel on his shoulder, and now this one is the devil? What if she starts to tell him the things he knows are true, the things he can't bear to say, even to a figment of his own imagination? Maybe she'll tell him that he's weak, because he knows that if he were stronger, the real Simmons might have stayed.

"No," he says, his voice cracking. "I know she's gone. I don't have to listen to you."

He turns his back on her, but he can still feel her presence lingering. Happy Simmons puts a comforting hand on his shoulder and smiles.

"Fitz, I'm sorry."

He's putting his fingers in his ears, but the words are still ringing through his head. Sorry? Why would he make up a Simmons that was sorry?

She wouldn't be sorry. 

"Look, I know that we haven't had a chance to talk, at all. I just—I wasn't ready."

His fingers go from his ears to his temples, because the memory of waking up with her name on his lips is searing through him.  _She's gone_ , he reminds himself. _She was gone before I even came back_.

"I'm a coward, I know," she says. He hears her take a step towards him, a cautious step, then another one. "I didn't mean for it to hurt you."

"I'd never hurt you," Happy Simmons says. "you're my best friend."

"I know," he says, putting his hand over hers.

"Did they tell you what happened to me?" It's her voice, timid and careful, but it's not her.  He tells himself that it's not her. He looks up at Happy Simmons, who smiles reassuringly. "Did they tell you I'm not Hydra?"

He spins around to face her.

"Go away," he says. "I don't have to listen to you."

New Simmons looks at the floor. "I—I suppose not, but I just want you to know . . ."

"I know that Simmons isn't Hydra. I don't need you to tell me. She told me herself, when we were sitting at the . . ." He snaps his fingers. "When we were sitting at the . . ."

"Pool? At the motel?"

He's surprised that it's New Simmons who answers. He looks at Happy Simmons, who shrugs, before looking back at her.

"I don't need two of you, okay? I don't need two of you." He knows he's fidgeting, but he can't stop. The Simmons he needs is the Simmons he'll never have. "You're not . . . you're not fooling anyone. I know she's gone. I know you're not real. Just, just go away already."

"Fitz," her voice is different now, defensive. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

He's massaging his temples now, reaching up to pull at his hair.

"You're not here."

He opens his eyes, and Happy Simmons is gone. New Simmons, however, is still standing in front of him, wringing her hands and looking at him like he's about to explode.

"You're not here." He closes his eyes, opens them, and there she is. He groans in frustration. "Ugh, why is it not working? Why isn't it . . ."

It's the way she looks at him, with eyes that are alive and familiar, that makes his jaw drop.

"Jemma."

She nods, then looks at the floor.

"You came back. I didn't think—" He purses his lips, suddenly overwhelmed by embarrassment over what she just heard. His hands comb through his hair. "Jemma, it's not . . . it's not what you . . ."

"You're hallucinating me," she says. He sifts through her intonation, straining for meaning. She says it like it's a diagnosis, but her eyes don't leave her shoes.

"I needed to learn to live without you," he says, "turns out I couldn't." The anger in his voice surprises him. 

"Fitz." His name is spoken slowly, carefully, "I know how you must feel, but I . . ."

"How I must feel? How could you know how I feel? You don't feel anything."

He sees the hurt in her eyes when she looks back at him, and he hates himself for it, but he's been holding it in all this time, and the words keep spilling out.

"I thought I was your friend, but apparently it wasn't me you cared about, it was my . . . it was my . . ." his hands fidget as he gropes for the words, "I'm just a brain to you." He takes a shaky breath in, and lets it out. "I'm just a brain to you. And when I didn't have that, you just . . . you just left."

A silence grows between them as he finds the courage to look back at her, taking in the horror on her face and the tears forming in her eyes. He wants to take it all back, to run to her and wrap her up in his arms, but he feels some kind of energy pushing him backwards, and he thinks it must be her.

"That's not . . ." her voice is shaking now, pleading. "That's not how it happened, Fitz."

"Okay," he prods, holding back his own tears, "Okay, then tell me."

"What?"

"Tell me how it happened."

He braces himself, because he knows what she's about to say—that she doesn't love him, that she saved him out of pity, that she couldn't bear to be near him after he told her how he felt. He can say it to himself, but he knows that hearing it from her will break him.

"You were . . . you were in a coma." Her words are still careful, methodical, "and I . . . I didn't leave your side, Fitz. I swear, I didn't. I spent days by your side watching, waiting . . . didn't they tell you?"

"They don't tell me anything. They're like you; can't bear to look at me." His words are daggers, but they only pierce him.

She meets his gaze.

"I know about hypoxia, Fitz. I knew you'd have trouble finding words, and finding yourself, And I knew you'd look to me, and I knew that I'd give you everything. You think I can't bear to look at you now? Imagine how I felt when you couldn't even breathe for yourself. Imagine how I felt when I realized that you would wake up and I wouldn't be what you needed."

"What are you talking about? You're everything . . ."

"No, I'm not, Fitz. I know how you are. I know you would have looked to me to tell you what to do, how to act, and I couldn't let you. I would have molded you into the person I wanted you to be, and Fitz, I couldn't do it. I'd rather lose you than take advantage of you."

The tears are flowing freely now, and he's lunging towards her before he knows it.

"You didn't lose me," he says, his arms finding their way around her. "You'll never lose me."

"But I did, Fitz. And when I knew you'd come back, I just . . . I needed you to be you."

He pulls back to look at her, to hold her wet eyes in his.

"Me too."

"What do you mean?"

"The you I was talking to . . . the one who wasn't real . . . she was just like you were. We didn't . . . she just talked to me. Told me things were going to be okay. She never . . . we never . . . even in my dreams, I never expected you to . . ."

"Love you back?"

He nods as a sigh shudders through him. 

"Oh, Fitz."

He's about to ask what she means when her hand is on his jaw, and she's kissing him. He pulls back with a shock.

"What on Earth are you . . ."

"Showing you."

"What?"

"I'm showing you, Fitz."

He doesn't have time to process it before her lips are on his again, this time softer, moving slowly, setting his blood on fire. It takes him longer to pull back, but not far enough that he can't her hear try to catch her breath.

"You don't feel the same way." he says.

"I didn't know what I felt back then. Now I do." She lifts his chin so his eyes meet hers. "You needed space, and so did I. I needed to figure out what I wanted."

"And you want . . . this?"

She dips her head, and he thinks he can see her cheeks grow pink.

"Yes, Fitz, I do." 

"I've changed, Jemma. I'm not the person I was."

"Neither am I."

This time, he's the one who kisses her, pulling her closer as he feels her hand on his neck, doing the same. He feels her passion as she kisses him back, and he knows that it doesn't matter what happened before. It doesn't matter that she left, or that he's broken. If it all had to happen to lead them to this moment, then every second of it was worth it.

"Fitz."

He ignores the call, savoring the feel and the taste of her.

"Come on, Fitz!"

Panic shoots through him as he jumps up, disoriented.

"Come on, there's a briefing, you're going to be late. Hey, are you okay?"

Fitz lets out a sigh as the realization grips him. He sits up in bed, peering at Skye through one sleepy eye.

"I was dreaming."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Of course not! Don't you have a . . . a briefing to get to?"

Skye mumbles an apology and leaves him to his silence. He tries to hold onto the feel of Jemma, his Jemma in his arms, but it's already fading, and the real Simmons, the one he no longer knows, will be there, waiting for him at the briefing.

He gives himself a moment to grab his pillow and scream into it before he stands up to face the day ahead.

**Author's Note:**

> I started out writing this as an alternate take on the reunion scene in 2x05, and I really, really tried to make it all work out and be okay. I really did. Instead, I ended up with this canon-compliant ball of pain. I apologize to the fandom.


End file.
